Dempsey rolled onto his back and came awake suddenly, pulled out of vague dreams he wouldn't remember. Lids still tightly closed he reached out, but the sheets beside him were flat and cool.
He opened his eyes quickly, then. The curtains were open a crack – Harry hadn't properly drawn them again in her haste to leave – and pale moonlight that would soon dissipate into watery dawn fell through them on to the bed. He sat up. He was alone in the room and intuition told him that she hadn't just got up to go to the bathroom; she had been absent for some time.
Rubbing his eyes, he tried to control the sudden quick beating of his heart. Why the anxiety was rising so surely in his chest he couldn't really say, except that he knew Harry, didn't he? He thought, after last night's events, the idea that she had simply left to get a glass of water was the least likely scenario. No, she would have lain awake mulling things over, before finally getting up to investigate some hunch. He wondered that he was even surprised to find her gone.
But why hadn't she woken him to tell him what she was doing? He looked at the clock on the bedside table: it was almost twenty to seven in the morning; outside, night would still have a hold for another hour at least. He shivered. Why hadn't she woken him? He felt strongly that neither of them should be investigating this alone, not in the dark, at any rate. He sensed danger, danger to Harry. She needed him with her.
God damn it, Makepeace, he thought and swung himself out of bed. He walked naked to the window, pushed back the curtains and peered out into the gloom. Immediately, he noticed the footprints traversing the lawn below. There were several tracks now, intermingling confusingly, as if two or three people had performed an elaborate dance together. They seemed to be headed for the woods they had walked through yesterday morning. Was she out there? He turned on the large table lamp on her side of the bed and the room was illuminated with soft yellow light. He saw her nightdress then, lying limply discarded on the floor, if though she had simply unhooked the straps and let it fall to her feet. It was unlike her not to pick it up and fold it away, she was meticulous like that. He yanked open the wardrobe door, looking for her outdoor coat. It wasn't there.
Not thinking too much about it, Dempsey crossed the room and retrieved his own clothes from yesterday. They lay folded half-neatly across the chair in the corner, and he pulled the grey sweatshirt over his head then reached for his jeans. The legs were still damp from their snowy walk: from where he had run through the thick snow in the fields. That carefree time they had spent together seemed long ago now. He pushed the thought away, and ignoring the uncomfortable dampness, yanked on thick socks, and finally his old adidas. Then, as Harry had done forty-five minutes previously, he took his gun and holster from the top drawer of the bedside cabinet and strapped it firmly up against his body before he pulled the leather jacket over it. Four minutes after waking, he left.
Unknowingly, he retraced Harry's footsteps almost exactly, although without the same assuredness. Instead, his own movements in the unfamiliar house were faltering and uncertain – the night had turned it into a foreign place, and again, he was fleetingly reminded of his strange dream of the previous night. He felt his way gingerly down the corridor and then finally, towards the main staircase. He didn't turn on any lights, and after every few steps he paused and listened for a sound. He encountered nothing and no one. To all intents and purposes, the house was fast asleep, silent in the early morning. He stopped at the door on the narrow landing that lead to Lord Winfield's sleeping quarters, but there was only quiet.
He descended the stairs and deliberated, undecided as to which way to go. He thought that Harry had most likely exited the house, that at least some of the tracks on the lawn were hers. After a few seconds, he moved towards the Great Room and into the main entrance hall. He went to open the large, heavy front door, but it was securely locked and the key had been removed. He cursed and decided to head towards the kitchen area. That side of the house had another exit - the door they had used for their walk yesterday. Perhaps it would be easier to get out that way. Then he heard a noise outside. He moved closer to the window and the sound came again, unmistakable this time. It was a dog barking.
Dempsey moved along the narrow corridor, trying to track the source of the barking. The dog was close to the house, but away from the main entrance. He made for the kitchen exit door and the barking got louder and then became almost frantic, is if the animal outside sensed his proximity. He suddenly knew with certainly that the dog was Jasper - the bark was unmistakable. He had never known before that dogs had unique voices, just as people did, but he understood at that moment that it was true. Jasper's bark was usually playful and inquisitive; there was no animosity there, only curiosity and enthusiasm. Now, though, there was a different tone to it – an urgency.
He reached the outer door, and Jasper was right on the other side of it. The dog was actually scratching at the wood, desperate for him to join him. Dempsey turned the main handle and the door opened easily – it had been left on the latch and he guessed Harry had come out this way. An icy draft hit him, and he was nearly knocked over by Jasper, who launched himself at him in a frenzy.
"Down, boy!" he exclaimed, grabbing the dog's collar in an attempt to control him. But Jasper wouldn't be calmed. Again and again, he jumped up, barking incessantly.
"What is it?" The worry was back in his chest. A lead was snapped onto the dog's collar, as if he had been taken for a walk. What was Jasper doing out here in the freezing night? Where was Harry? Apart from Jasper, there was no sign of life beyond the door at all. As though sensing his anxiety, the spaniel fell silent momentarily. He stood at Dempsey's feet, looking up at him beseechingly. He gave a short bark, and ran down the path a few metres. Then he looked back and barked again.
Dempsey didn't need any encouragement. It was still very dark out in the grounds, and he had no torch, but, he told himself, he had his instincts, and he had Jasper.
'Come on then boy, you show me where she is." He pulled the door shut quietly behind him and stepped out into the darkness. Jasper set off down the stone steps and through the snow like a bullet.